Chemical Soldier
by Soulfulbard
Summary: Years ago, there was a hero in the Principality of Abierda who turned science against the foes of the people. His time has passed, but the time of those foes has come again. Now it falls to the apprentice of the Court Alchemist, the Crown Princess, and a grumpy old man to save their country. Arkos. Might become M later.
1. Chapter 1

**Chemical Soldier**

This is a work of fan fiction, created for entertainment purposes only and with no claim to the characters depicted. Ownership of RWBY characters and concepts belongs to Rooster Teeth. The World of Ere and related concepts belong to Landon Porter and Paradox-Omni Entertainment.

 **The Science of Violence, The Science of Healing**

 _Ten Years Ago..._

Villem Strous crouched on the edge of a rooftop overlooking one of the larger thoroughfares of the city of Ierda and lifted a spyglass to his eye. The royal procession for the Feast of Founding was just under a half mile away and slowly winding it way toward his location.

He quickly used the signal mirror he'd been given to flash this information to his compatriots down in the crowd. Then he took a moment to check his crossbow again. He'd never fired one before a week earlier when he was recruited and he was still nervous about the device working properly if it was needed.

Then he settled in to watch and wait, which gave him time to think. The Nikos line had ruled the Principality of Abierda for twenty-three years to the day; from the the time Apollo Nikos united the two smaller principalities of Abellor and Ierdia under his banner to this day when Strous and his fellow like-minded citizens slew Apollo's son Sidero Nikos, his wife Melanie, and his sole heir Pyrrha.

With no line of succession, they would be able to put someone more sympathetic to their interests on the throne. It wasn't as if King Nov II, High King of Novrom, to whom the Principality of Abierda paid fealty would object. It had been his father's decree that the regions of his kingdom should govern themselves as long as they paid proper tribute and pledged their soldiers to the service of the realm as a whole. So the High King in Kinos controlled his city and the roads while everything else was a political free-for-all with nations rising and falling faster than it took some livestock to mature as they made war, forged alliances and in some cases simply went to seed.

Now it was the time for his group to rewrite the boarders and becomes kings of their own little fiefdoms. All it might cost him was one little squeeze of a trigger...

Which never happened because in the next moment, Villem's entire world became focused on the dark red metal blade protruding from his chest, pinning him to the slate tiles he;d been crouched on. Then his whole world faded to black and ended.

Qrow Branwen put a boot on the dead man's back and pulled his weapon free with a squelch. Blood pooled and ran freely down the tiles. He flicked the excess gore from the blade with a disdainful huff before setting his sights on the crowd below and the approaching procession.

He'd been spending the last half hour watching the signal mirror communications from another rooftop, getting a feel for the numbers and positions of the opposition. By his count, there were two groups of four arrays on either side of the road just below where he was standing. They were all poorly concealing gladiuses and crossbows as they tried to blend in with the crowd.

None were really soldiers or even mercenaries if he was capable at all of taking their measure. Judging by the rumors that led him to this particular rooftop, kneeling over this particular cooling corpse, they were all foreign merchants upset that King Sidero wasn't receptive to their brand of corruption.

It felt too easy, but then real life wasn't like the dime novels where every conspiracy was incredibly competent and dangerous. Sometimes they were made up of a bunch of men with too much ambition and not enough ability to judge their own capability.

As the royal procession drew closer, the would-be assassins started to close ranks, pushing toward the street. The royal guard; six men on horseback, another six on foot, surrounded the the white lacquered royal carriage, but none of them seemed to notice what was happening ahead of them.

One by one, the conspirators pushed free of the crowd's press and took aim with their crossbows. Qrow pulled down the metal mask that covered the top half of his face and started to move, but it was too late: one horse screamed and reared, then another and another. Someone in the conspiracy was smart: instead of trying to kill armored men with one-shot weapons, they shot the horses who if they didn't die, panicked and threw their riders, sending the procession into chaos.

In three loping steps, Qrow leapt from the roof, sword raised. The tiles cracked where he pushed off, a substance applied to the soles of his shoes channeling all the force of his leap into carrying him forward. He timed himself perfectly, hitting the pavers behind one of the attackers with enough force to create two small craters under his feet while putting all his force into a downward swing.

At the same time, he pulled a trigger in the sword's hilt, releasing a pressurized canister that forced a powerful acid out through minute pores along the weapon's edge. The blade split the man from shoulder to hip, leaving two mangled, hissing halves to collapse on the street.

A shout went up among the crowd, but his mostly heard those of the conspirators nearby as they called out a belated warning. He took one hand off his sword and dropped on hand to his side, using his two middle fingers to work a lever attached to his palm. A tube the length of his middle finger and half again as wide dropped into his hand and he turned, throwing it at the center mass of the first man to come at him with a sword.

The tube hit the assassin in the chest and exploded, the force caving in said chest and hurling the freshly made corpse into the crowd five feet away. He was already out of Qrow's mind as he rushed the next man, easily dodging a clumsy sword strike.

Lashing out with one foot, he slammed the sole of his boot into the man's knee, crushing it and making it bend in the wrong direction. Even as his foe howled in pain, Qrow drove the pommel of his sword into the back of his head as they passed one another, knocking them man cold with dubious chances he'd ever wake again.

The last man was smart enough he had no chance and turned to run, but once more Qrow manipulated the lever in his palm and threw another vial, this one attached to a thin, pale line. The vial struck the runner in the back, releasing a fast-acting adhesive that allowed Qrow to yank him into a backward stumble toward him.

Qrow met him halfway, slipping his blade easily between the man's ribs and out through his chest.

Kicking him off, Qrow turned to find the royal carriage stalled. The captain of the guard, Jay Winchester, had managed to muster two other guardsmen and was throwing open the door to try and get the royal family to safety. Meanwhile, the remaining four conspirators closed in from the other side.

Taking off at a full sprint, Qrow launched himself from ten yards out, stomping the ground to activate the treatment on his boots to hurl himself into the air and onto the top of the carriage. From there, he sprang into the midst of the pair of assassins who reached the carriage first.

The pommel of his sword slammed into one's throat while he snapped a punch into the gut of the other. Reversing his momentum, he brought his sword around and used the acid burst to lop off the head of the latter before stabbing the former in the heart on the back-swing.

Shocked into coming to a full stop by the explosion of violence before him, the next man gawked, barely able to bring his sword on guard. He recognized the mask and it struck terror into his heart. "I-it's you! The Chemical Soldier!"

Qrow showed the man his teeth, but it wasn't a smile. "Always liked the name," he remarked before hurling a vial that blew the other's arm off and drove him to the ground in a ruined, wailing heap.

With only one known enemy left, Qrow took the time to check behind him and saw a lone guardsman getting the coach door open on that side. "Come, Your Majesty!" he heard the man say, "We'll get you to safety!"

That was all Qrow had time to notice before the final assassin tried his luck running past him in a wide arc, charging with utter desperation toward the opening door. Qrow turned and matched him stride for stride, intercepting him just steps from where Queen Melanie was emerging and dispatch him with a sword through the throat.

As the man sank tot he ground, scrabbling at his neck in a desperate attempt to stop the flow of blood, Qrow turned to offer his assurances to the queen...

And found the guardsman driving a hunting knife into her back.

Qrow Branwen was not just a man loyal to his country. He held the title of Court Alchemist, a position created especially for him because his close friend the then-Prince Sidero Nikos had made an impassioned speech to his father about how much he believed in Qrow and the science he practiced. In he intervening years, he'd become good friends with Melanie as well and as much an uncle to their little girl as he was to his own nieces.

His world turned red.

The guardsman didn't even get a chance to finish driving the knife in before Qrow's palm caught him in the side of the face and with mean force, drove his skull into the carriage's baseboard with a sickening crunch. Again and again, Qrow pounded the man's head into the wood until a frightened whimper took his attention off avenging his friend.

He looked up to find a pair of terrified green eyes peering out through the remains of what had been an elaborately arranged red hairdo that had collapsed in the panic. At first he thought his brutality had frightened her. Then he followed her line of sight to find that she was staring at his mother lying in a growing pool of blood.

And breathing.

His eyes widened. He hadn't even checked. If not for the girl, he might never have thought to do so.

But there was hope.

Hope that the Chemical Soldier could never provide. But Court Alchemist Qrow Branwen might.

Ignoring the swarming guardsmen who had been so useless before, he grabbed up Melanie's prone form and leapt, making for the castle and his lab.

RWBYRWBYRWBY

 _Now._

Given he ever-present threat of explosion, fire or release of noxious gas, Jaune Arc couldn't fault the king for relegating the rather extensive Royal Alchemy Laboratory to a series of magically excavated chambers deep in the bedrock beneath Castle Ierda.

That didn't mean he appreciated it when he had to lug thirty plus pounds of equipment from what was effectively a sub-sub-basement to one of the highest towers. It didn't help that Abierda was poor in strong magic traditions. Sure, almost anyone could cast a little; Jaune himself could light a fire on command and conjure a handful or two of water if needed, but the knack for powerful magic ran thin in central Novrom. That meant there wasn't anyone available to construct anything even approaching the magical lift systems other kingdoms enjoyed.

So Jaune had to take the steps, dragging along a thick leather case with a big canvas bag hanging from his shoulders. Such was his life once a weak for the past seven years. And he couldn't even curse the job he was doing because he knew how important it was.

The big difference this day, however, was that he didn't have Qrow telling him to pick up the slack every five minutes. Any other time, he'd call that a blessing, but that also meant he'd be undertaking the vitally important duty that only Qrow himself had done previously all by himself. And that left him terrified.

All too soon, despite the seemingly hundreds of stairs and thousands of pounds weighing him down, Jaune emerged from a nondescript side door into an opulently appointed hallway with an arched ceiling and smooth wooden wall panels. Crystal wall sconces held magelights that illuminated everything brighter than day, and every few steps there was a tapestry or painting depicting glorious battle of feats of strength.

At the end of the hall, two royal guardsmen were posted. The elder of the two inclined his head to Jaune as he approached and clutched a fist over his breast as a sign of respect.

Jay Winchester had stepped down as captain of the guard after failing to weed out the traitor in his ranks who very nearly mortally wounded the queen, but remained in service to impart his wisdom on the new generation of guardsmen. He was also one of the scant handful of people who knew how close Queen Melanie had come to death and what it took to keep her alive now. For that reason, he held the Court Alchemist and his apprentice in high regard.

Beside him, the younger guardsman sneered at Jaune. Jay's son, Cardin had no idea what indispensable role Qrow and Jaune played now but he instinctively hated the 'weak' intellectuals and how his father fawned over them. Never mind that Jaune himself had designed and built the heavy mace hanging from the man's side as well as most of the other weapons wielded by the Royal Guard; every one a marvel of modern science.

Jaune merely nodded and returned the elder Winchester's sign of respect before passing through the door they guarded. There was a thick panel of canvas set up beyond that door, designed to further obfuscate the interior. None but a few eyes ever saw the queen's bedchamber under normal circumstances; only five saw them under those that occurred once every week.

Three of the other four were already there and waiting when Jane entered.

"You're late, but given the circumstances you can hardly be blamed for that." Immediately in front of Jaune as he entered the room were two stern green eyes attached to a voice and presence that had haunted Jaune's nightmares: Glynda Goodwitch.

One of the few full-fledged mages in Abierda, no one knew much about the Good Witch—not even if that was he real name—but she had the trust of the Queen and acted as her right hand and adviser. She also found time to run the daily operations of the castle, which included menacing the castle staff and their children into what she deemed proper behavior. Children like a young Jaune Arc.

By now, it was pure reflex to duck his head. "I'm very sorry Madam Goodwitch." He didn't try to make excuses; that would only make her angry.

"Don't waste any more time," she said sharply. "Get on with it. And keep in mind that I will be observing closely, given this is your first time administering the treatment alone."

Jaune gulped, only to be saved by the husky, melodious voice of the Queen. "Peace, Glynda. The young man has assisted Qrow in this literally hundreds of times now. He has the Court Alchemist's confidence and so has mine as well."

If only by a tiny margin, Glynda's expression softened and she nodded for Jaune to proceed.

He did so hurriedly if only to avoid being under that gaze any longer. Beyond Glynda, he laid eyes upon the two most powerful women in Abierda.

Of the two, Queen Melanie Nikos looked the part the least. She was wearing the canvas dress made specifically for the treatment and her long red-brown hair hung loose and unstyled, making her look more a pauper than a monarch. It was the way she carried herself; shoulders squared, chin raised, eyes filled with infinite confidence that held the truth of her station even as she sat on a simple stool by the hearth.

Beside her was Princess Pyrrha, looking fully regal in her leather cuirass and red-dyed leather kilt, bronze grieves and bracers, and bronze diadem decorated with emeralds hanging from delicate chains at the sides of her head. Her flame red hair was done up in a high ponytail and still fell to her waist. In her hands was the weapon Jaune considered his masterpiece: Milo, a long sword with a telescoping hilt and uniquely shaped blade such that it could become a spear in an instant thanks to a series of intricate clockworks and springs. The weapon also had a secret: a hollow in the hilt filled with explosive powder packed behind a sphere of adamant steel the size of a plum. It was a single shot, but with the size and power behind it, no human or demihuman armored or not could survive it at close range.

It represented six weeks of work all told and even Qrow and Goodwitch had praised it.

Remembering himself, Jaune touched two fingers to his forehead and curled them downward to the bridge of his nose. The fist over the breast was a salute reserved for warriors while he was meant to use the one meant for the alternatively skilled folk like masons, smiths and yes, alchemists. "Your M-majesties." he stuttered out.

The Queen shook her head. "Qrow never stood on formalities in private. As you are drawing close to taking his place, it's time you were extended the same courtesy."

Jaune blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. He'd always assumed Qrow got away with being informal because he was a crusty old bastard who the Queen depended on for survival, not because it was a privilege of his office.

"T-thank you, your... um I'm not sure how to address you now..." Calling her 'Melanie' or even Mel like Qrow did didn't feel right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the princess hide a light laugh behind her hand. She always seemed to do that whenever he was tripped up by some court formality ever since they were children. He had no idea why his suffering amused her so.

The Queen offered him a warm smile. "You ma still call me 'Your Majesty' if that makes you comfortable. But you don't need to bow or salute in here. All things considered, I would say I am to defer to you in this situation as I would with my physician."

"Understood, Your Majesty. I'll prepare now." Jaune avoided eye contact and scuttled over to the hearth where a sizable cauldron was on the boil, numerous dark and arcane-looking objects floating in the rolling water. There, he lay the case down and shucked off the pack on his back, opening each in turn.

The first thing he produced was a cake of lye soap and a clean cloth. Dipping the cloth in the boiling water, he used it and wash his hands and arms up to the elbows. Then he extracted a pair of steel tongs and used them to fish a pair of thick rubberized gloves out of the cauldron.

Once he had dawned the gloves, he extracted an oil cloth from the boiling water and unrolled it atop a clean towel next to the Queen's seat. On top of this, he placed more devices from the cauldron and from his pack. The last one was a filtered mask which he strapped onto his face.

With all his tools arrayed, he stood up and turned to face the Queen. "I'm ready to begin, Your Majesty," he announced.

"Very well. I put myself in your capable hands, Jaune." Queen Melanie leaned forward to give Jaune access to a buttoned up panel in the back of the canvas gown.

It was here that Jaune bound himself in relatively new territory. Qrow was the one who normally undid the panel, usually while keeping up a patter with the Queen about old times or some random story or other from his nights crawling the pubs of Abierda.

On the nights where Qrow was getting drunk outside the castle rather than inside, Jaune was stuck tending experiments or cleaning, so he had no good stories so he remained quiet as he unsnapped the buttons. The panel fell open, revealing a small expanse of pale flesh marred by a brass plate surrounded by puckered scar tissue.

With practiced fingers, Jaune pried open a panel in the brass plate, revealing two nozzles, which he swabbed generously with antiseptic from a glass bottle. Then he picked up an empty glass syringe and fitted it in the bottom nozzle. "Alright Your Majesty, I'm about to drain the cavity." He gestured toward a device consisting of a mouthpiece attached to a nickel flask. Normally it was his job to administer it while Qrow drained the cavity in the device serving as the Queen's left lung. "Madam Goodwitch, if you could..."

Before he could finish, a pale hand had already taken hold of it. He looked up to find himself transfixed by the kind green gaze of the Princess. "Please. Allow me. I've been watching this since before you were Qrow's apprentice after all."

"T-thank you, Your Majesty," he managed with a nervous duck of his head.

"Please," she said with a tiny bit of laughter in her voice, "call me Pyrrha. I insist."

He goggled at the familiarity. When they were small, the King and Queen allowed the Princess to play with the children of the staff, which included Jaune, whose mother was the Warden of Abierda's single forest. Pyrrha had mostly spent time with his sisters though and they'd barely spoken since those days, so he didn't understand where this was coming from.

"T-thank you, Pyrrha," he corrected. The smile he got in return for that made him avert his eyes, feeling it wasn't actually meant for him. If Pyrrha had any reaction at all to that, she didn't show it, dutifully taking the contraption Jaune had indicated it and placing it in her mother's mouth. Without any further instruction, she twisted the flask, making a cracking sound followed by a hiss as chemicals mixed and gave off pure oxygen which Queen Melanie breathed in slowly and deeply.

One he made sure she was getting enough oxygen to replace what she'd be losing during the draining and replacement process, Jaune took the syringe in his hands and drew back the plunger. A thick, reddish brown liquid slowly began to fill the tube with a gurgling noise that once made Jaune's stomach turn.

It took a little over two minutes before the syringe was full and Jaune pulled it free of the nozzle. "Alright, the draining's done. Now all we need to do is replace the fluid." He picked up a second syringe, ignoring the myriad other tools he would have needed in case of a complication up to and including the necessity of replacing the entire respiration mechanism. This one was full of a clear, pink-tinted fluid the consistency of syrup.

He fitted it into the other nozzle and began to slowly depressing the plunger. The Queen shuddered at the sensation of the cool substance spreading into her chest cavity. Without thinking, Jaune placed his free hand on her bare back to comfort her. "It will only be uncomfortable for a moment Your Majesty. Then you'll be breathing easy for another week."

Another hand joined his on the Queen's back. Pyrrha's. "It's alright, Mother. It's just like all the other times. Just concentrate on breathing."

Queen Melanie nodded and continued to take strong, deep breaths. Jaune continued depressing the plunger until the syringe was completely empty. Thereafter, he removed removed the syringe and replaced the panel, carefully re-buttoning the flap on the Queen's gown to restore her modesty.

"And done," he finished, mimicking what Qrow always said before hurriedly setting about packing his equipment. The items from the cauldron when back into the cauldron; it would be sent back down to the laboratory later. Then he set about stowing the things from the case and pack.

Once again, he found he had help doing so in the form of the Princess. He fought down every urge he had to scramble away from her and merely say, "Y-you don't have to do this, Your—Pyrrha." After all, he'd handled that part on his own for the past seven years, since before he even understood why they boiled their instruments.

"That doesn't mean you have to," she replied nonchalantly, handing him the tongs and an assembly used to replace the nozzles in the Queen's back-port.

"M-much appreciated." he mumbled, inciting another gentle laugh from her. The Princess was really vexing him today; being overly familiar and helpful one minute, finding humor in his discomfort the next. Not that he could confront her on it. Apprentice of to Qrow or not, she could say the word and he would be out of the castle if not the city and principality.

Pyrrha continued helping him pack things away for a few moments before her mother interrupted. "Thank you, Jaune. I believe Qrow chose well for his replacement and apprentice. Have you given any thought to what you'll do when he steps down at year's end?"

"What I'll do, You Majesty?" Jaune asked, confused. He and Qrow had had that conversation. At the start of the new year, Qrow would step down with a recommendation to the King and Queen that Jaune take his place. Since there was no one in Abierda who had as much expertise in alchemy or who had studied under Qrow, there was really no other choice but Jaune. He'd always expected it to happen that way, but as much as he referred to him as 'old man', he was barely in his fifties if that and Jaune fully expected him to be in his position for years to come.

"The position of Court Alchemist is a noble title," explained the Queen. "When you take Qrow's place, you'll also be taking up all related privileges and obligations that come with it. At year's end both you and your family will be elevated to nobility and you will need to prepare yourself for the change of lifestyle."

That hadn't occurred to Jaune at all. Mostly because Qrow ignored all the obligations that came with being a nobleman. The only times he ever attended court was when there was an actual matter that required his expertise.

"I-I'll give that due thought, Your Majesty. Thank you." Mercifully, Pyrrha handed him his now-closed and secured pack, meaning he could take his leave. Giving the three women a polite goodbye, he left with as much haste as propriety allowed.

Once back on the private staircase that would take him straight back down to the laboratory, Jaune allowed himself to breath a sigh, releasing all the tension of the last half hour slowly ebbing away. No matter how many times he'd gone into the Queen's chambers, he never got used to it. Goodwitch alone was enough to fray his nerves, but add the Queen and Princess and he felt like he was dying by the end of each session.

This time was worse. Not only had he been expected to perform a lifesaving procedure on the most powerful woman in the country, Pyrrha— _The Princess—_ he corrected himself had been acting especially disconcerting this time. He worried over that. It felt like she knew something he didn't and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Hello again."

Letting out a terrified squawk, Jaune tried to turn around and flee at the same time, ending up stumbling the last three stairs to the next landing and finding himself looking up at the woman who had been in his thoughts to recently.

"Y-your Majesty!" he exclaimed breathlessly.

"Pyrrha," she corrected him, once again hiding a laugh behind her hand.

"P-Pyrrha," he parroted dumbly, finding nothing else intelligent to say.

She removed her hand from her mouth, revealing a gentle smile. "Sorry to startle you, and I know you didn't expect me to approach you here, but I needed to talk to you in private."

Jaune felt his face grow hot as he took another step back and felt the pack on his back bump into the wall behind him. "A-abut what?"

Closing her eyes, Pyrrha seemed just as nervous as he was as she mustered courage. "I need to ask you something important. You... you are aware of Qrow's past, correct?"

He knew he had to tread carefully here. While he knew a great deal about Qrow's past, not all of it was public knowledge even to the highest halls of power. "I know some. There's a few tales he's told me about being friends with your father..."

"Not about that," Pyrrha interrupted. "About the Chemical Soldier. Has he told you about that?"

So she did know. And given the context in which he'd left her and the Queen...

"Only about how it ruined his life," Jaune admitted. "And gods know how many times he's forbade me from taking up that mantle."

Pyrrha frowned slightly. "I am not here to ask you to do that, Jaune. But for the record: do you have the knowledge and materials to do what he did?"

He hesitated a moment, but those big, open, soulful eyes of his dragged the truth out of him. "Yes. He still has everything: spare parts, schematics—everything-locked up in a trunk in the laboratory. But if you don't want me to..."

The Princess descended the stairs to come stand on equal footing with him, placing her hands on both his shoulders. Those same eyes that begged the truth from him were lit form within by determination and need that made him shiver.

"Because Jaune Arc, I need you—the principality needs you—to turn me into the new Chemical Soldier."

RWBYRWBYRWBY

AN: Welcome to Chemical Soldier. Like Not Your Saint George, this is a RWBY AU set in my World of Ere setting. For those of you who have read Rune Breaker, the events of this story take place within a few years of the main story of that series.

The theme of this one is steampunk/dungeonpunk superheroes with the trademark Arkos romantic subplot. Unlike NYSG, this one will involve a much larger selection of RWBY characters. We've already got Qrow and Glynda in strong supporting roles with mentions of Ruby and Yang and we'll soon have Nora and Ren. I've already introduced my AU-verse versions of Pyrrha's parents over in Game On and now we have an addition of Cardin's father, Jay (as in Blue Jay – color rules still apply) who will be playing a bit of a role ala Commissioner Gordon.

Expect lots of action scenes, build montages and political intrigue.

Now, this is a trial balloon for this story. It won't update regularly until Arc Reaction ends, but I was very excited by it and wanted people to get a taste of it.

Please don't complain that this isn't an Uber!Jaune story or that Pyrrha gets part of the hero role. I got enough of that at the start of Arc Reaction (along with allegations that it WAS an Uber!Jaune story) and... it's not going to change what I'm doing. Threatening not to read isn't going to change what I write. The first rule of writing well is to write what you'd want to read and I'm more interested in developing power and relationships over raw wish-fulfillment. I'm not even saying there's something wrong with those—hell you can see I have quite a few in my favorites—but that's not what I like writing.

Other criticisms, such as whether this AU is too far removed from canon like Not Your Saint George will be cheerfully taken under advisement. This story is admittedly verging very close to original fiction, but the core characters are so heavily influenced by Pyrrha, Jaune and Qrow, I felt it was still in the realm of fanfic, but I understand if others don't feel that way.

And remember, this story like Arc Reaction, Not Your Saint George, and Game On can be expedited via my Pat/reon (in my profile), making it the very next story I update instead of my next planned update.

Otherwise, stay awesome folks!


	2. The Principles of Secrecy

**Chemical Soldier**

This is a work of fan fiction, created for entertainment purposes only and with no claim to the characters depicted. Ownership of RWBY characters and concepts belongs to Rooster Teeth. The World of Ere and related concepts belong to Landon Porter and Paradox-Omni Entertainment.

 **The Principles of Secrecy**

Pyrrha couldn't honestly say she 'knew' Jaune Arc exactly. It was true enough that she'd seen him once a week for the past few years, but it wasn't as if her mother's treatments were social engagements. The few times herself or her mother addressed him directly, he'd trip all over his words and go silent for the rest of the session. Sometimes even Qrow would join in trying to prod the young man into joining discussions, but even he had limited success.

They had played together as children, but in the sense that she'd played with all the children around the same age. If pressed, she'd have to admit she knew his sisters—particularly the twins Matte and Claire better than him. As well as the younger sisters, Gris and Verte. The latter was still among the group of palace children she'd read to on evenings she had free.

No, she mostly knew Jaune by reputation. When the young man wasn't in earshot, Qrow admitted that his mechanical work far outstripped his own and that showed in the work he'd done customizing the weapons of the royal guard. Just from watching him, she knew he was careful and deliberate at his task; always exacting,

He was polite to a fault too. More than anyone else she'd encountered in the palace. It was as if he was utterly terrified to set foot out of line among not just the royals, but the rest of the staff.

That last part was why she was taken aback when he took a deep breath, met her eye, and simply said, "No."

Not 'No, You Majesty', not 'I cannot'. Just 'No', plain and simple.

True, he seemed to steel himself for excoriation, but his response was so out of character for him that it took her a moment to realize he actually gave it. She actually stuttered and said the first thing that came to mind. "I-I'm sorry?"

Jaune's eyes focused on a point just over her right shoulder, avoiding locking gazes again. "Considering what I know, helping you become a new Chemical Soldier would be treason. So I won't just deny your request, it's my duty to reject it."

"Treason?" She couldn't help but gape. "What makes you say that?"

Finding just looking past her to still be too intense, Jaune simply closed his eyes. "Knowingly bringing harm to your person or allowing harm to come to you is treason, Your Majesty. Plain and simple. No offense, but given that you even considered this, I don't think you've heard Qrow's stories or... or seen his scars."

He cracked one eyelid open to peer at her as he elaborated. "His identity was more exclusive than a state secret. He couldn't very well go to Father Ozpin for healing without explaining how the Court Alchemist was constantly being stabbed and shot full of arrows. And then he couldn't go to him for all the burns and other injuries that come with being an alchemist because then the Father'd see the scars."

A bitter frown creased his features as one hand traced something on his arm, possibly his most recent injury. "Which of course means Father Ozpin thinks I'm the most incompetent apprentice ever considering I'm getting healed every few weeks. I'd hate to see you have to go through either of those, Your Majesty."

Those last words changed the Princess's open, kind demeanor to steel. "I do not need another person trying to 'protect' me. You know what they call me don't you?"

Jaune flinched under her glare. "Of course. You're the Invincible Princess. Everyone knows about your training with the city watch and the chronicles report it every time you help them stop a criminal—but a title isn't the same as truth, Princess. No one is invincible."

Again, there was a change in her expression that left him off kilter. This time, she looked shocked, possibly a little ashamed. "You... thought I was boasting."

"I don't mean to doubt Your Majesty's—"

She raised a hand. "No. That's not what I meant. There are too many people who believe I really am invincible, and then there are others who think I need to be placed in a protective bubble. Neither is something I need." After a moment's silence, she spoke carefully, "What I mean to say is I don't _want_ anyone else to protect me. This is too important for me to hide behind my status as sole heir to the principality."

Jaune balked, averting his eyes. "I wasn't even thinking about it on those terms. I just feel like it's my duty to keep anyone—princess or scullery maid from going through what Qrow did. Especially alone."

Pyrrha pursed her lips in thought. "But why did it have to be alone? Why did he never tell anyone?"

"Because he's killed around a thousand men? All with families and organizations who might want revenge? That he didn't want people to see him as the kind of man who would kill a thousand men? Because he had two young nieces who could be ransomed for the secrets you're asking me for now? He had nothing _but_ reasons to keep Qrow Branwen and the Chemical Soldier separate. Something else I wouldn't wish on you."

He heaved a huge sigh. "There's so many reasons why you shouldn't do this, You Majesty. It would be a waste of your time to enumerate every reason, so please just accept my saying 'no'."

Pyrrha gave him a level expression, the determination in her eyes unwavering in the face of his refusal. "Before I do, I have a request. Please follow me." She didn't bother waiting for a reply, merely turning and starting back up the stairs.

Ever the obedient servant of the Crown, Jaune followed in complete silence as they returned to the upper levels of the castle. Without commentary, he observed that Pyrrha was well accustomed to the honeycomb of servant's passages, leading him up and around on a different path than the one he'd taken to reach the Queen's chambers.

Eventually, they emerged in a separate short hallway; one Jaune had never seen before though he could guess.

"No guards?" he asked.

"I ask them to stay at the entrance to my rooms. I like my privacy." Unsaid was the fact that even the royal guards respected the combat prowess of the Invincible Princess enough not to argue that concession.

They passed by two other doors to come to the one at the end of the hall. Pyrrha produced a thick, stubby key from her sleeve and inserted it not into the door's lock, but a knothole at about waist level. When she turned it, the clicking and scraping of internal mechanisms could be heard before the door popped slightly open. Slipping the key back into her sleeve, she pushed the door the rest of the way open and gestured for him to enter first.

Jaune hesitated, but not at the impropriety of going ahead of a royal. Not, his mind was far too occupied to care about that. No, he was staring at the door. The design wasn't one of Qrows... or one of his. Only when she gestured a second time, more forcefully, did he go ahead.

Whatever he'd expected from the interior of the Princess's apartments, what he was confronted with didn't match. His grandmother might have called the place squalor if she were unaware of whose room it was. But Jaune had spent the last few years getting familiar with Qrow's excuse for organization as well as the... eccentricities of Abierda's various mechanists, tinkers, alchemists and even the tiny population of hedge wizards. It wasn't squalor; there wouldn't be a speck of filth to be found, he was sure—just as sure as he was that she knew where every time in the room was located and why it was there.

And there were a lot of them. Once the place had been a sitting room, but the couch at its heart had long been buried in stacks of books, loose sheets of paper, and writing implements all arranged around a single open spot currently occupied by a lap desk.

The squat table in front of it boasted an array of knives and half-carved objects of indeterminate purpose alongside abandoned piece of leatherwork and the commiserate tools. Instead of the usual curio cabinets and display cases any other noble's sitting room would be adorned with, Pyrrha's walls were lined with tables, each holding evidence of another hobby or interest taken up and reluctantly abandoned.

One in particular caught his eye and he gravitated to it. Beakers, flasks and alembics, mostly broken or melted by heat sat among metal reagent containers around a burn mark that had almost burned through the table itself. He ran a finger along the residue and sniffed. The familiar chemical tang along with the burn pattern told him what he needed to know immediately.

"You were trying to make deathless flame." 'Trying' being the operative term. It looked like she'd succeeded save for lacking proper containment, which no doubt led to the burn mark. "Are you alright?" From experience he knew the pain of being exposed to the chemical flame that was designed to be difficult to extinguish.

"I got a nasty burn on my arm," Pyrrha paused in transferring a stack of folios and papers from the couch to the floor to flex her left hand in memory. "I had to tell Father Ozpin that I spilled hot oil on myself trying to learn to cook." She gave a rueful little laugh. "Alchemy and cooking aren't all the different; I have trouble with things that need ingredients in general it seems."

Jaune pried open the lids of some of the reagent containers, noting a number of ingredients that Qrow always complained were in short supply. Not only was the Princess putting a lot of money into pursuing her interests, but she was attempting advanced tinctures. "Who's been teaching you? It's certainly not Qrow." Qrow wouldn't have let her _say_ the words 'deathless flame' for the first year of learning.

"Books mostly," she replied. "Some foreign practitioners of the new sciences are producing manuals to help spread the knowledge."

"There's more to alchemy than books, Princess." He gestured to the damaged table. "A master would have taught you that that acrid smell? It meant the acid content of the admixture was too high. That's how it ate through the vessel and reached your open flame."

For just a moment, he saw Pyrrha turn red from embarrassment. Then she shook her head clear and resumed her regal posture next to the new, partially clears couch. "Thank you for your advice. But that isn't what we're her for. Please sit."

Jaune obeyed, feeling he'd already stepped too far out of bounds. Taking his seat gingerly, so as not to disturb the remaining piles of information that were his seatmates, Jaune awaited what he'd been summoned for. Pyrrha didn't leave him waiting long, reaching past him to pick up a handful of folios from the stack she'd move to the floor to make room, choosing one which she placed in his hands.

"Read these."

Again he complied, trying to ignore that the Crown Princess had just taken the lap desk from the cushion beside him and replaced it with... well herself. There wasn't much space clear on the couch, she her thigh was in immediate contact with his. And as he opened the folio, she leaned over to read along with him, her upper torso molding itself against his arm.

Clearly the Princess didn't stand on common notions of propriety and Jaune was not in a position to argue them with her. So he merely worked to control his breathing, on not moving his right side, and on the pages in front of him.

They were reports from the city watch. Reports of murders in the section of the merchant's quarter called The Lamplighter's Bane; where the artificers, alchemists, hedge wizards and all the other clever folk set up their workshops. Going back months, they detailed unsolved crimes; thefts of spellworking reagents and equipment, disappearances of minor craftsfolk, and then, most recently several murders including those of three watchmen.

The later were most concerning because the kingdom paid a not minuscule amount to the few spellworkers in the city to keep the city guard outfitted with spellworked armor and weapons. The reports showed that not only have the magic armor not protected them, but it had been destroyed.

Just the least of the implications of that settled cold and hard in the pit of Jaune's stomach.

"You know what this means." Pyrrha wasn't asking him, just stating a fact. "There's someone in the city gathering magical power to them—someone with enough magic already that they don't just kill people, they annihilate their magical defenses." She pinned him with a deadly serious look. "There's no one in Abierda who has a fraction of the magical power to stand against them."

"Except Goodwitch maybe," "Jaune pointed out, "or Father Ozpin, though I'm not sure how strong he is..."

Pyrrha shot him a glare for trying to shift the issue to someone else. "The point is, Abierdan magic won't do; not against whoever did this. But maybe if we attack from a different angle..."

"From Qrow's angle you mean. With the new sciences." Jaune looked around the room, eyes resting and settling on dozens of different pieces of varying levels of completeness and age. His eyes narrowed. "But you've been pursuing the new sciences since long before these crimes started in the Bane."

The Princess ducked her head, having the decency at least to look a little ashamed. "That's true. I was riveted by the stories of the Chemical Soldier when I first learned of them. That's why I've trained so long and so hard to become a good fighter. I thought that would be the most difficult part, but when I finally turned my attention to the other part of being the Chemical Soldier..."

She gestured around them, toward years of trial and failure. "I worked for three years and could never attain any semblance of competence at it on my own. I... I had given up. It had been months since I'd chosen to stop when I learned about this." She reached out and touched the folio in Jaune's hands."

Piercing green eyes met nervous blue. "Do you understand now, Jaune? This isn't just some idiot noble's lark—at least not anymore. People are dying, Jaune. And the Chemical Soldier might be the one who can save them. It doesn't matter what happens to me; I care about this land."

Jaune tore his eyes away from hers. No one had any idea what it was like being the full focus of that woman's attention. "I care about this land too, Princess, and I certainly don't want this to escalate any further..." He brandished the folio for effect. "But I can't let you do this." She started to protest, but Jaune cut her off. "Not alone."

He took a deep breath, and continued. "Look, it takes months to learn enough of the basics to consistently make the simplest of the kinds of tools that Qrow used when he was the Chemical Soldier. If you want to stop this, you're going to need an armament way before you're ever going to be able to make yourself one."

Placing the folio back atop the stack from whence it came, he balled his hands into fists as he struggled to force the next words out. "I-I can do that for you." What came next came in a rush from somewhere he didn't know he had in him. "More than that. I can give you something Qrow didn't have: someone to share your secret. Someone to talk to about what you're going through with." Summoning up all his mental fortitude, he locked eyes with her again, finding it no less overwhelming to do so than the last time. "Someone to make sure that this time? The Chemical Soldier won't be alone."

A radiant, grateful smile spread across the Princess's face and she reached out, gathering his hands in hers and giving them a hearty squeeze. "Thank you so much, Jaune. I will make it part of my mission to ensure that your faith in me will not go unrewarded. Though our work will be in secret, I assure you that as of this moment, you are a hero of the realm."

For his part, Jaune felt like he was going to pass out. Damn his Arc blood. Maybe if he'd been born to another family he might have been able to say no, to turn away from the fell tidings in the page's of Pyrrha's folio and hope someone else would take care of it.

But he wasn't and he couldn't. Because of that, he'd just agreed to help one of the most important people in the kingdom put herself perpetually in harm's way.

The worst part was, he'd let her convince him it was the right thing to do.

"D-don't go praising me yet, Princess—"

"Now more than ever, you may call me Pyrrha," she insisted.

"P-Pyrrha." He stuttered, the name still feeling like blasphemy on his tongue. "Anyway, we haven't even begun yet."

She nodded and released her grip on his hands. "Of course. Where do we start?"

Jaune took a moment to think. Oh, he knew where they needed to start. He was just even more reluctant to tell her that than he was using her first name. "We need to see what we're working with first hand," he said at length, "so we need to go right to the source: Qrow's old gear."

RWBYRWBYRWBY

AN: I've had a terribly stressful week, so there's been a lot of writing to calm myself down.

Which is good for you guys, as its led to Chemical Soldier Chapter 2.

A very insightful review before pointed out that the last chapter was overly exposition heavy. I hope this one balances things out better.

Something I wanted to explore in this fic and started laying the groundwork for it now is the concept of Legacy as it relates to superheroes. This would be where one hero passes the mantle to the next generation. Think how Wally West became the Flash after Barry Allen and later Bart Allen briefly took over the Flash duties. Or how in the Ultimate Universe Peter Parker died and Mile Morales took over (until the Ultimate Universe sucked so bad they destroyed it and chucked Miles into a world that already has a Spider-Man).

Here, I'm kind of making our lovely young couple into the two standards for Legacy bearer: The Superfan and the Apprentice. While Jaune is literally Qrow's apprentice, Pyrrha is in the Superfan mold of Wally West or in a more roundabout fashion Best New Super Hero In The Last Twenty Years, Blue Beetle III Jaime Reyes. See like Wally, Pyrrha has no direct connection to Qrow, but she is a big enough follower of his tale that she's been able to replicate the circumstances of his origin. And like Jaime, who after being empowered went seeking the legacy of Ted Kord (Blue Beetle II), she's got issues actually fitting into the footsteps of her predecessor; just like Jaime, Pyrrha can't recreate the awesome gear Qrow left behind... but she can use it.

The romance in this one will be a slower burn on the level of Not Your Saint George simply because there's similarly weighty barriers to overcome in-character. Make no mistake from Jaune's reactions here: neither one of them have romantic feelings at this stage. Jaune is mostly freaking out over being in such intimate (in the other sense) contact with the Princess. But his heroic nature still pushes him to offer a hand even so. For her part, Pyrrha right now just sees him as someone she needs help from, nothing more nothing less.

Let's see if we can fix that, shall we?

As for other RWBY characters? Ren and Nora will be along in time with Weiss and Blake. We'll be seeing Ruby and Yang next chapter possibly also Torchwick. Cinder will play a big part. We'll see if there's any more surprises along the way.

Like I said before, updates for this will be fewer and farther between than the other stories until Arc Reaction finishes. I hope each one is worth the wait.

Also, if you're interested in the setting of this story, Not Your Saint George, or the game being played in Game On, check out the Indie Go Go campaign going on now. Search that site (no spaces in the name) for World of Ere RPG.


End file.
